


Make the Darkness Disappear

by RedTied



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:54:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4554981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTied/pseuds/RedTied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Naturally. But the matter in which we return it is important,”—she wraps the splinters back up brusquely—“which is why I am giving the staff to you.” She passes the package to the bewildered mage as a gentle smile graces her lips. “It will have more meaning if you give it to her.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make the Darkness Disappear

“ _Are the old tales true? We may never know. All that remains of the land_ …”

The restless bouncing of a nervous scout pulls Solas from his afternoon reading. The elf suppresses an irritated sigh and peers up from his novel, an eyebrow raised expectantly. As though a torch lights his backside aflame, the recruit immediately stiffens and stumbles forward to deliver his message.

“Uh… Ser Solas, Lady Leliana requests your presence. At your earliest convenience,” the boy stammers, then quickly bows and jogs away. Confusion colors Solas’s mind as he watches the scout flee: he is rarely summoned by anyone, let alone the Spymaster of the Inquisition. The confusion is quickly replaced with intrigue, and Solas sets aside his text.

Ravens greet him with loud squawks as he ascends the final set of stairs to Leliana’s domain. They seem displeased by his visit, and many taking flight and leaving trails of black feathers in their wake.

“Oh, don’t mind them. They get so territorial.” The Spymaster’s words quell the creatures, the ruckus dissipating almost instantly and letting the tower subside to quiet once more. Her voice catches Solas off-guard; her presence is untraceable. She stands almost directly before him, leaning nonchalantly against the railing. “I thank you for answering my summons. I have something that may interest you.” Solas bows slightly in response and gestures to her desk. As they take their seats, he notices a crudely wrapped package lying on the rough wooden surface. Leliana sits opposite him and, before he can even ask, starts unwrapping the parcel.

Within the tattered leather lies a staff, broken into several pieces. The extensive damage was obviously the result of combat, but Solas picks up a section to examine further. It is crafted of ironbark and elven carvings decorate the wood—the staff’s owner is (or was) Dalish. He sets down the splintered staff and gazes at the hooded woman, hoping she’ll provide an explanation. The floor creaks as Leliana leans back in her chair, deliberating momentarily before speaking.

“You are aware of the fate of Clan Lavellan?” It is a question, the Spymaster gauging his reaction with piercing eyes. A pit forms in Solas’s stomach; images of the Inquisitor, _his_ strong, beautiful Ellana, collapsing from anguish replay through his mind. He can still see her trembling frame, the tear stains on her pale cheeks, the despair deep within her grey eyes. Solas himself has experienced this kind of loss more times than he can count, yet seeing his love go through the same feels a hundred times more painful. Even now, Ellana still struggles to recover.

“Yes,” he responds quietly, his eyes downcast. Leliana nods and prods no further.

“I sent some of my scouts back to investigate more thoroughly, and one of them returned with this.” She crosses her arms. “I had planned to ask Ellana on its origin, but our relationship as of late has been…” Her words fade away, and her expression twists into a slight grimace. Solas understands her reluctance: the mayhem that consumed the town of Wycome was a result of the Duke’s assassination, a carefully executed yet highly treacherous plan of Leliana’s creation, meant to eliminate the man’s threats against the elves. The plot backfired, however; the Duke was indeed killed, but the nobles and the townspeople blamed the Dalish for his murder. In the backlash, Ellana lost her entire family in the course of one bloody night. The Inquisitor is generally a very empathetic character, but her clan meant _everything_ to her. Leliana’s actions and her orders decided the fate of Clan Lavellan; Ellana can’t forgive herself, and Leliana takes the fall as her scapegoat. It is a role she does not protest, and Solas respects her for it. At this point in her lamentation, Ellana needs the burden carried by another until she is ready to shoulder it herself.

Leliana clears her throat and continues: “Do you have any thoughts on this staff’s origin?” Solas lets out a small chuckle, catching on to the Nightingale’s little game. The answer is obvious, and he’s sure she didn’t summon him just for this simple question.

“Are you not the Spymaster? Surely you do not need my assistance identifying this,” he smirks, patronizing her. Leliana’s lips curl in response as she forfeits her duplicity.

“Why, of course not, Master Solas,” she divulges sweetly. “But, I do need your assistance in deciding what becomes of it.”

He leans forward, his brows furrowed. “You know well that I have no say in this; it rightfully belongs to Ellana.”

“Naturally. But the matter in which we return it is important,”—she wraps the splinters back up brusquely—“which is why I am giving the staff to you.” She passes the package to the bewildered mage as a gentle smile graces her lips. “It will have more meaning if you give it to her.”

Thoroughly perplexed, Solas nods, accepting his quest from the Spymaster. Once again, her actions surprise him, and he has a whole new appreciation for her shrewdness; he thanks Leliana and excuses himself. As he travels down the stairwell, his grin spreads from ear to ear. He feels excitement and vigor coursing through his veins with this new mission, lightening his body until it seems weightless. Solas cannot wait to share this gift with Ellana; he can already see her face lighting up, like the first sunrays of spring melting the winter’s frost. But first, repairs must be made, and he knows exactly where to go.

*****

The Undercroft bustles with daily activity; the forges are lit, and the sound of metal clanking and clamoring fills the chamber. Solas weaves his way around the busy craftsmen to the corner of the great room, where he finds the Arcanist fumbling with a peculiar looking rune. It glows an ominous maroon color, which sends shivers up Solas’s spine. He sighs, centering himself, and approaches the dwarf.

“It appears your materials refuse to merge.” Peering over her shoulder, he examines the progress she has made so far. “I sense dragon’s blood and—“

“—red lyrium!” Dagna interjects excitedly. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“Very awesome, yet very dangerous,” he cautions. “Are you stabilizers active?”

Dagna spins around to answer, her mouth already halfway open. However, something seems to click in her eclectic mind, and she turns immediately back around.

“Yes… Yes yes yes yes yes! That’s it!” she exclaims as she throws her hands in the air. A few of the neighboring crafters jump at her exaltation, while others simply brush it off as another normal sound found in the Undercroft. “Master Solas, thank you! I did have stabilizers, but not enough of them. I’ll just add a few more to the center, recalibrate it, and…” she continues to prattle on merrily as she makes adjustments. Finally, the rune shines with a brilliant red color, and Solas can feel power emanating from the crest. With a beaming grin, Dagna lifts it up and examines her handiwork.

“Impressive. I’m sure the Inquisitor will be pleased with your work,” he says with a smile.

“I could not have done this without your help, Master Solas! This rune is just the prototype. By making a few more minor modifications, I can really make it shine!” she speculates, tilting the crest to expose any possible imperfections. “I wonder what would happen if I tried added a bit of powdered dragon bone… Or maybe an essence of some sort? Demon? Or spirit?”

“Dagna,” Solas states firmly, hoping to halt her train of thought. He finds her company enjoyable: her innate talent makes her one of the most accomplished artificers he’s ever met and her conversation are usually quite lively. She learns quickly, and she is always eagerly asking questions and pushing boundaries. Thedas could use more dwarves like her, Solas believes. However, if prompted, the girl would chatter on for the rest of the afternoon, and he has neither the time nor patience to indulge her currently.

“Dagna,” he repeats, “I was hoping you could help me with a side project.” Her speckled face brightens, like a child given a piece of candy, and she nods excitedly.

“Oh, I’d love too! Is it a new rune? Or how about a sword that lights on fire? Or maybe a—“

“Dagna,” Solas groans as he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. She quiets down, grinning sheepishly.

“Sorry, Master Solas.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I need you to listen. This project is a gift for the Inquisitor, and I need you to keep it secret,” he stresses.

“A secret? I am _really_ great at keeping secrets. You can definitely count on me,” she assures him. This promise, however, does little to persuade him, and a tiny part of him regrets getting Dagna involved. Still, he is certain that she will have no trouble assisting him.

The wrapped-up staff splinters make a soft thud as Solas sets them on her worktop. Dagna immediately opens the parcel, her nimble fingers making quick work of the knots. Once revealed, she gasps, and picks up a piece to examine closely.

“It’s…beautiful! All of the carvings,” she chirps, running her hand along the etchings in the wood. “I can still feel the magic, but it’s really really _really_ faint. Is this the project? Does this staff belong to the Inquisitor?” Solas places a single finger against his lips, a signal that Dagna swiftly absorbs and she ceases her insistent questioning.

“Remember Dagna,” he whispers, leaning in ever so slightly, “this is a very important secret. You must approach this with great discretion. No one is to know.”

“No one?” her voice lowers as well. “Not even Master Harritt?” It takes every bit of Solas’s willpower to suppress a grin.

“No one,” he repeats as his gaze glides from side to side, scanning for any unwelcome ears. Dagna is drawn in to his surreptitious act and joins in his survey of their surroundings. Once convinced they are isolated, she wraps up the shards of the staff quickly and covers the bunch with a stack of notes.

“Please, Master Solas, now that our business has concluded, let me escort you out,” her tone is full of feigned politeness; if Solas wasn’t persuaded of her participation in their little game before, he is now.

“It has be a delight, Enchanter Dagna,” he smirks and gives a very extravagant bow. The dwarf covers her mouth to conceal a giggle, then grabs an arm to lead him out of the Undercroft. Before exiting, Dagna give his arm a sharp yank to pull his ear down to her level.

“Don’t worry, Master Solas, I’ll have it finished up in no time! It’ll be done so quick no one will even notice.” Her hushed whisper is barely heard over the noise of the smiths. “I will send a messenger when it’s complete.” She releases his arm and flashes a vibrant smile, then quickly spins around to head back to her craft. Solas departs, wondering what kind of monster he may have just created.

*****

The door leading into the Inquisitor’s office is wide open – a common occurrence as of late. Ellana has determined that, due to the amount of visitors, messengers, and occasional annoyances, the constant knocking was too much. She now leaves the door ajar, which feels both welcoming and warm. Rumors of her inviting nature spread, and now everyone, from lofty nobles to humble staff, drop by to voice their concerns, opinions, and compliments to the Inquisitor. It is a burden sometimes, especially when the parade interrupts a private conversation, but it is an excellent display of leadership. 

Solas enters cautiously, restored staff in hand, scanning the room for any sign of the Inquisitor. A light draft flows though the room, ruffling a few pieces of parchment on her desktop. He leans the stave against her desk and reorganizes the haphazard pages delicately. The stream of air flows from the ajar balcony doors, left open by a distracted Ellana. She is leaning against the railing, gazing out at the neighboring mountains. She stands out like a beacon, bright orange hair dancing like a lit flame in the gentle breeze, contrasting strongly with the shades of white, grey, and brown surrounding her.

“Emm’arla sahlin,” Solas sighs as he stands in the doorway. Ellana spins around quickly, visibly alarmed by her unplanned visitor, but her tension diffuses quickly.

“Aneth ara, emma lath,” she replies, her smile tender. Her expression, however, has little depth; she seems to gaze right through him with empty eyes. The light they once housed has been chased away by tears and sleepless nights, and instead, little dark shadows have formed underneath them. Still, Ellana extends her hand, inviting him to join her. He laces his fingers through hers and closes the gap between them.

“How are you, vhenan?” Solas asks, touching his lips to her knuckles gently. Why he asks this baffles him—he already knows her response. She wilts slightly, but manages to give him a bittersweet smile.

“Better,” she breathes, nodding as though speaking to herself as well. How she manages to maintain her image as the infallible Inquisitor after losing her entire family is beyond Solas; he’s been waiting for the moment when her control slips, when her carefully crafted veneer shatters like thin ice.

“The pain will ease, but it will never leave. It is a burden you will carry from now on.” His free hand lifts her gaze to meet his. “You are not alone, Ellana. Your companions will help. Ar glandival tu suledin.” This time, her grin is heartfelt, and it warms Solas to see her express a genuine emotion that isn’t downright sorrow.

“Now, emma lath,” she releases his hold and walks into her office from the balcony. “What brings you here?” Solas quickly strides ahead of her, hoping to block her view of the desk, and obviously, her gift.

“Whatever do you mean, Ellana? I cannot just visit you on a whim?” he questions, trying to distract her. The Inquisitor, however, is not convinced in the slightest; she crosses her arms expectantly and raises an eyebrow.  

“Of course you can,” she replies curtly, “but you usually don’t come _here_ without a purpose.”

Solas gives in, sighing dramatically. “Fine, you got me,” he yields as he holds his hands up in surrender. “In truth, I have something for you, vhenan.”

“For me?” Curiosity is written all over her face, and Solas suppresses a laugh. The Inquisitor is a natural leader – stoic, intuitive, and mature – but catch her interest and she turns into a young pup, curious and alert.

“Yes,” he reassures her. “It is a token”—he steps aside, revealing the stave resting against her desk —“that rightfully belongs to you. May it help ease your burden, vhenan.” At first, she appears bemused; her head cocks to the side slightly as she gazes at the staff, trying to place its familiarity. Ellana hesitantly takes a few steps forward, extending her pale arm to clasp its leather grip, before suddenly freezing. All movement ceases, her fingers still a few inches away from her gift, and realization flickers across her face. Her extended hand retreats to cover her mouth, muffling the gasp that escapes.

The tears start slowly at first; small rivulets form down her freckled cheeks. Her body begins to tremble as the drops continue to flow, leading into full blown sobbing. Still, Ellana tries to maintain her composure: between the hiccupping and sniffling, she struggles to dry her face using her sleeves. This endeavor quickly ends, however, and she resigns to covering her face with her hands. Solas simply stands next to her, completely unsure of what to do next. He knew she would be emotional, but now, seeing her in this state, he almost regrets presenting the staff to her. Regardless, extreme emotions, whether good or bad, can be healing in their own way—seeing Ellana finally breakdown after all this time is a relief.

After a few painful minutes, Solas can no longer curb his desire to comfort her. He pulls her close and wraps his arms around her waist, hoping to calm her weeping. His action seems to be appreciated, for Ellana immediately buries her head into his shoulder and returns the favor. They stay like this for a while, rocking gently, savoring the warmth and closeness of the embrace.  Ellana’s crying gradually pacifies, and finally, she utters the words Solas was hoping to hear.

“Ma serannas, emma lath. Ma serannas…” Her voice is barely above a whisper. She pulls apart from him slightly to gaze into his eyes. “No words can possibly describe how much this gift means to me.” To Solas’s surprise, this statement is followed by a smile, which looks out of place on her tear-stained face. He caresses her moist cheeks, using his thumbs to carefully wipe away the remnants of teardrops resting on her freckles. Ellana closes her eyes and sighs peacefully, and in turn, Solas places a long, soft kiss on her forehead.

With her composure returned, Ellana now shifts her attention back to the staff. This time, she grips it without hesitation; her free hand runs along the engravings, the leather-wrapped stem, the simple branch-like appendages that adorn the crown, ensuring the authenticity of the relic at every angle. The only difference between the older and newer version is the tiny clear crystal ball nestled within the branches at the top. This little touch of Dagna made it unique and highly functional, and judging by Ellana’s grin as she stared at this new feature, she picked up on it too.

“How did you—”

“I didn’t,” Solas interjects, knowing this question would come. “A nightingale found it for me.” Ellana nods, brushing some of her untamed hair behind her ear. As much as he wants to, he can’t take all of the credit.

After a few more short moments of observation, Ellana shifts the weapon into her right hand; the motion is quick, as though she readies for combat. Her posture changes: feet apart, knees bent, shoulders wide and strong. She lifts the staff skyward, drawing in a deep breath to center herself, and strikes the end to the floor. Flames erupt at the point of impact and spiral upward, surrounding her with a blinding light. Solas takes a quick step back; Ellana is a powerful and talented mage, but her magic is as unpredictable as it is dangerous. With this great power comes her impressive focus, control, and stamina. This heat bleeds into her personality as well—she’s hot-tempered and spirited, and her warmth spreads like wildfire.

Fire, not blood, lives beneath her skin.

As the light fades, it reveals Ellana’s brilliant smile. Her usual confidence and drive are evident now, if only for the moment, and Solas gets a glimpse of the Ellana he’s missed these long few weeks.

“It’s…it’s incredible,” she gazes at the wood in her hands, lost for words. “Dagna enhanced it quite a bit, but I can still feel…”

“Feel what, Ellana?” Solas presses, eager for an explanation.

“I can feel them. The other Keepers, I mean.” She closes her eyes and gently presses her forehead against the staff, as if she were trying to communicate with it. “Their hopes, their memories… It’s all fragmented and jumbled, but I can feel them. And Keeper Deshanna’s…” Her throat clenches; her hold on the staff visibly tightens as she fights back the tears that threaten to form once again. “And Keeper Deshanna’s are the strongest.” A long sigh escapes her lips, and she leans back against the edge of her desk. Solas settles in next to her, pondering in the silence that consumes them.

“Do you miss your family, Solas?” The question cuts the quiet like a knife, and he feels like a wolf caught in a bear trap. He had hoped these types of inquiries would never arise, but realizes that he can no longer avoid them. His relationship with Ellana is becoming more serious, more _real_ ; she deserves the truth, but…not yet.

“It has been a long time since I last saw them. We did not part on good terms.” He concentrates on the scorch mark on the floor, silently pleading she doesn’t press the issue further. Her stare is palpable, but the only sound she makes is a long, overly dramatic sigh.

“Creators, must you always be so enigmatic?” groans Ellana, bumping her shoulder into his playfully. Solas chuckles lightly, and the tension melts away instantly.

“All will be revealed in time, vhenan. This I promise.”

“As you say, Solas,” she quips, adding in one of her infamous eye rolls.

Astonished, he peers at her: there she is, _his_ Ellana. Finally, she gazes back at him, unhindered and uncompromised, with eyes full of the light he has missed so much. Her spirit is truly amazing, and every trial she has faced thus far has only made it more unique. Solas stares at her for a bit too long, captivated by her reversion, and her brows furrow in response.

“What is it?” Her head tilts in interest. “Is something wrong?”

“What did the staff show you, Ellana?” Solas turns her question aside with another. When he had handled the staff for the short time before presenting it to Ellana, he had felt a great deal of energy flowing through the woodgrain, yet the staff remained silent and inanimate. All magic leaves an imprint, but her reaction indicates something far more compelling. Ellana rises and slowly walks forward, keeping her back to him as she contemplates her response.

“All will be revealed in time, emma lath.” Her voice is laced with irony, rivaled only by her proud smirk. Solas laughs heartily, shaking his head.

“I will hold you to that promise, Inquisitor,” he counters. Ellana whirls around and grabs his hand, hoisting him off his resting spot against the desk.

“As you wish. Now come.” Ellana heads towards the exit, with his hand in her left and the staff in her right. “I’d like to truly test Dagna’s fine craftsmanship for myself, and I find myself in need of a sparring partner.”

**Author's Note:**

> WOO-HOO, finally posted my first work! Since this is my first, any feedback/comments are very welcome and much appreciated. I credit this to my wonderful friend, Sashimae, who never gave up on me, and this would have never been possible without her! She is also a master of Elvish and helped come up with some of the wonderful phrases used. 
> 
> Some translations:  
> Anetha ara: friendly Dalish greeting (My safe place is the literal translation.)  
> Emma lath: You are my love.  
> Ar glandival tu suledin: I believe you will endure.  
> Ma serannas: Thank you.  
> Emm’arla sahlin: I am home now.


End file.
